


Starhaven Institute of Magical Studies

by shineyma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Gen, Harry Potter Goes to a Different School, Original Magical School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: A chance meeting gives Harry the opportunity to attend a different school...not that he wants it. After all, he's going to Hogwarts.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 322





	Starhaven Institute of Magical Studies

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, it has been a looooooong time since I wrote Harry Potter fic. We're talking like...2010, 2011. But I've been reading a lot of HP fic lately and it's reminded me what a _horrible_ school Hogwarts is. So you get this ridiculous, self-indulgent nonsense as WEEK FIFTEEN of my 52 weeks of fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review! <3
> 
> (Also, if you're new here and you like this fic, you...probably shouldn't check out the rest of my stuff. This is so much more wholesome and pure than I usually go for.)

The Leaky Cauldron was chaos.

People pressed in on Harry from all sides, wanting to shake his hand, wanting to ask questions— _Where’ve you been, Mr. Potter? What house are you hoping for, Harry? Favorite Quidditch team? Opinions on the Minister’s speech last week? Werewolves? Flying? Defense? Parents?_

It was overwhelming and baffling and he was, Harry feared, in great danger of being crushed.

So it came as a relief when a sudden _BANG!_ startled the crowd into silence—and even more so when the crowd abruptly slid apart, giving him some space. For the first time in nearly a minute, he was able to breathe.

“Sweet Circe, people!” someone exclaimed. Through the sudden gap in the crowd, he could see her approaching: a tall, beautiful woman with wand outstretched. Her hair was long and dark, bits of silver and shining metal—disks?—weaved into it, matching the mysterious silver symbols etched along the edges of her long, old-fashioned sort of dress.

She looked mysterious and elegant, _exactly_ like Harry would’ve pictured a witch. He liked her at once.

And not just because she was scolding the people who had nearly squashed him. “A fine way to welcome him, stampeding over him like a bunch of rowdy hippogriffs! Did you _mean_ to crush him, or would it have only been a happy accident?”

Even though they were all adults, the crowd muttered just like Harry’s classmates at primary school when scolded for misbehaving during class. If not for, well, everything else, it would’ve been the strangest thing he’d ever seen. Some of them slunk immediately away, as though pretending they’d never been involved; others shuffled their feet but remained in place.

“Sorry, Harry!” someone called.

“Apologies, Mr. Potter, we was just a bit excited is all,” said someone else.

Somehow, Harry managed to muster up a smile for them. It felt a bit shaky, but he hoped they wouldn’t notice.

“That’s all right,” he said. “It’s very nice to meet you all.”

For a moment, he thought he’d made a mistake—the crowd swooned and burbled and, in all, seemed on the verge of rushing him again—but then the woman who’d scolded them cleared her throat pointedly, and they subsided.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he added to her.

She smiled at him and gave a little bow. “My pleasure, Mr. Potter. But I imagine you had more in mind with visiting the Leaky Cauldron than being flattened underfoot?”

“Right!” said Hagrid, who had been hanging back. Harry thought he could’ve been a bit more useful, and then felt immediately ashamed of his ungratefulness. “We’re off to get young Harry his supplies fer Hogwarts!”

That excited the crowd again, and Harry was ushered out the back door of the Leaky Cauldron to cheers and applause.

It was, to be honest, all a bit much.

***

Hagrid hurried off to get his “pick me up” from the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry entered Madam Malkin’s alone…only to almost immediately walk right into someone.

She made a little noise of surprise at the collision, and he realized with a sinking heart that it was the witch who’d scolded the crowd back at the Leaky Cauldron. What a way to thank her!

“I’m sorry,” he said at once.

“Oh, not at all, dear,” she said, smiling kindly. “It’s my own fault for hovering in the door like a ninny. My apologies for blocking your way.”

She moved aside, sweeping an arm up to indicate the now clear path, but her smile faded into a frown as she looked beyond him.

“Have you lost your escort?” she asked.

“Erm,” Harry said intelligently. He could see how she’d so effectively scolded all those people; her frown was a bit terrifying. “The cart at Gringotts—he went back to the Leaky Cauldron. To recover.”

It was an embarrassing, stammering excuse for an explanation, but at least he got it out.

The witch didn’t seem impressed. “I see. Well, it’s to my advantage, I suppose; I was hoping to speak with you anyway.”

“You were?” he asked. He couldn’t imagine what such an impressive, intimidating person would want with _him_.

“Indeed,” she said. “First—well, first I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? Please forgive my appalling manners. My name is Professor Artemisia Wixlit.”

“Harry Potter,” he said, offering his hand. Professor? Maybe she’d be one of his teachers at Hogwarts. He hoped she wouldn’t hold today against him. “It’s nice to meet you, Professor. Thank you again for your help before.”

“It was my honor, Mr. Potter,” she said, shaking his hand. “And as you’ve brought it up, I did want to ask: are you all right? That was quite the display.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I just…wasn’t expecting it.”

“No?” she asked, eyebrows going up.

Harry remembered with a start that he was famous. No wonder she looked so surprised; she must think he was a complete moron, not to expect people to react to him.

“I only found out last night,” he blurted out. “That I’m—that people know who I am, I mean. And that magic exists, and about Hogwarts and all.”

“Only…” Professor Wixlit appeared even more surprised. “You were raised in the Muggle world, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“I see,” she said, expression clearing. “That may explain it, then. You must be under an Owl Ward.”

“A…what?” he asked.

She clasped her hands. “A ward is a type of protective spell. Imagine it as a sort of bubble surrounding your home. Different wards are used to keep out—or keep in—certain people, spells, or things. For example, most magical homes have an anti-pest ward to keep insects out.”

For Harry, who had long been resigned to sleeping in a cupboard full of spiders, that sounded amazing. _Magic_ was amazing.

“So an owl ward would keep owls out?” he asked, and remembered the paper delivery that morning. “That would stop mail, wouldn’t it?”

“Quite so,” Professor Wixlit said, beaming down at him. “Well deduced, Mr. Potter!”

Harry’s heart swelled. No one had ever looked at him so proudly before. He decided that if Professor Wixlit _was_ one of his teachers, he’d do his very best in her class.

…That was a thought. It hadn’t occurred to him before, thrilled as he was just to be getting away from the Dursleys and confused as he was over magic existing, but…he wouldn’t be going to school with Dudley. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to worry about making sure not to outperform his dull cousin.

It was an arresting thought. He could do his best in _all_ of his classes. He could study and do his homework and not have to worry about being punished for “cheating” the way he always was when he did better than Dudley.

He’d never had a teacher look at him with approval before. Now that it had happened, he wanted it to happen again.

“But why would someone want to stop my mail?” he asked.

“Excellent question,” she said, nodding. (Another difference: he wasn’t _allowed_ to ask questions at the Dursleys’, never mind praised for them. So far, the Wizarding World was way better than the Muggle one.) “To that, I will remind you that you’re famous, Mr. Potter. I have no doubt that were it not for the owl ward, you would be constantly bombarded by fan mail.”

The idea that someone would write to him was baffling, but Harry was more concerned with the thought of how Uncle Vernon would react to ten years of daily mail for Harry—mail delivered by owls, no less! He cringed.

“Indeed,” Professor Wixlit said. “That many owls would draw far too much attention from your Muggle neighbors, endangering both the secrecy of our world and your own safety. The owl ward was a necessity, no doubt. However, it did have one unfortunate side effect.”

Harry was stumped. “What do you mean?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pouch—smaller than her hand, which made it all the more impressive that she fit her arm into it all the way up to her elbow. She appeared to be digging around for something.

Magic was _amazing_.

“Unfortunately,” she said, a bit distractedly, as she rummaged in the tiny bag, “it prevented the delivery of one very important—ah! Here we are!”

Out of the bag, she pulled her arm, her hand, and then an envelope, which by itself was nearly three times the size of the bag that had contained it.

Then she tucked the bag away and, out of nowhere, drew a wand.

Harry’s breath caught. He was eager to see as much magic as possible.

“Harry Potter,” she said clearly, tapping the envelope with her wand. “Introductory term.”

Nothing seemed to happen, but after a minute, she smiled and handed Harry the envelope. Taking it, he found it was addressed to _Mr. H. Potter, Diagon Alley_ in purple ink.

The seal on the back was also in purple, and completely unlike the seal on his Hogwarts letter. After glancing up at Professor Wixlit—who gave him an encouraging nod—Harry opened it.

 _Dear Mr. Potter,_ it said,

_It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted at the Starhaven Institute of Magical Studies. A proud school with a history stretching back more than two thousand years, Starhaven is the world’s foremost source of magical instruction, accepting only a select group of students from around the globe._

_If you accept, your introductory term will begin **September the Fifteenth**. (Parents will note this is a fortnight later than is typical; this is due to the bicentennial wards refresh. Please feel free to contact us with any questions or concerns you have about this process and how it keeps your children safe.)_

_You will find enclosed an introductory booklet. Leading up to the first day of term, you are encouraged to study the booklet and identify the five topics you are most eager to learn more about. This will help you familiarize yourself with Starhaven and prepare you for the years ahead._

_To accept, return your owl no later than **August the Seventh**. If you have questions or desire an in-person or Floo meeting with a representative of the school, return your owl no later than **July the Thirty-First**._

_Congratulations! I dearly hope to meet you in September._

_Sincerely,_

_Headmistress Surya Mayadev_

Harry read the letter once, and then again. Then he looked up at Professor Wixlit, confused.

“I’m going to Hogwarts,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, with an odd sort of smile. “I assumed as much. If not for the owl ward, you would have received this invitation in February of this year.”

He looked at the letter again, eyes catching on _accepting only a select group of students_.

“Because I’m famous?” he asked.

“In part,” she admitted. “The school that can boast Harry Potter amongst its students will receive no little envy from its counterparts, there’s no denying that. However, the primary reason for the invitation is the immense favor I owe your mother.”

His heart skipped a beat. “You knew my mum?”

“No,” she said, “only in passing, I’m afraid.” She looked over his head, out the window into the Alley. “She saved my life during the war, you see.”

“Really?” Harry asked. It was hard to imagine. All his life he’d been told his mother was a useless, layabout drunk, but in the last two days, he’d heard she was an excellent student, a Head Girl at Hogwarts, and now a _hero_. He wished—

But there was no use in wishing.

“Really,” Professor Wixlit said. “It happened in this very Alley, in fact.” She looked back down at him. “I teach Defensive Magic at Starhaven, you see. Each instructor at Starhaven is allowed to invite our own children, but as I have none of my own yet, I sought—and received—permission to invite you.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He was honored and impressed, but… “I’m going to Hogwarts.”

It was his parents’ school, after all. They would’ve wanted him to go, surely?

“Of course,” Professor Wixlit said. He’d worried she would be offended, but she didn’t look it. “All of the arrangements are made, I’m sure. But.”

She paused, appearing to weigh her words. She tipped her head while she did, causing a little chiming noise as two of the metal discs in her hair knocked together. This close, he could see that there were little jewels, too, shining and shifting with her every move. The little symbols stitched around her dress moved, too—all on their own. As he watched, one of the ones at the bottom hem was sliding upwards, apparently aiming for the line of symbols around her waist.

“Hogwarts,” she said finally, “was once a very fine school. In current days, its academic reputation has declined. Starhaven consistently ranks first internationally in OWLs and NEWTs—standardized tests—and has a 93% acceptance rate at the Magical University in Bihar. Hogwarts is geographically closer to you, but Starhaven is by far the better school.” She smiled. “Of course, any graduate of Hogwarts would claim that Hogwarts is superior. It’s the nature of an alumnus, I suppose.”

Harry nodded. Uncle Vernon always bragged about Smeltings, but he’d long thought (very privately) that any school that would accept Uncle Vernon couldn’t be very good.

“Perhaps more importantly,” Professor Wixlit continued, “Hogwarts is based in Britain, and while you’re famous the world over, you might find your fans outside of Britain are a little less…enthusiastic.” She spread her hands. “At Hogwarts, I fear, you’ll always be the Boy-Who-Lived. At Starhaven, you’ll be just another student.”

Remembering how he’d nearly been crushed, Harry had to admit that was a compelling argument. Even so…

“But all the arrangements are made,” Professor Wixlit said, perhaps reading his decision on his face. “Very well, I shan’t press you. However, as your invitation is a personal one, I can offer you this: if at any time before 15 September, you decide that Hogwarts isn’t the place for you after all, you can send me an owl. I’ll see you transferred.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, both relieved that she wouldn’t push and appreciative of the offer.

“It’s my pleasure, dear,” she said, and then nodded to the envelope. “Even if you don’t decide to transfer, I’d suggest you peruse the booklet anyway. There’s a lot of valuable information there—especially in the First Generation section. It’s for students who are the first in their families to have magic, and as you were raised in the Muggle world, it should be very informative for you.”

“Thank you,” Harry said again. It made him feel a little dim to repeat himself, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. And he _was_ grateful to hear about the First Generation section—he’d worried about being the worst in the class, with all that he didn’t know.

“Not at all,” Professor Wixlit said, and stepped back. “Now, I’ve delayed you quite long enough, haven’t I? Thank you for your time—and again, do feel free to owl me if you change your mind.”

“I will,” Harry said, though he didn’t think he would. Hogwarts sounded wonderful, and his parents had gone there. Of course he wanted to go, too. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too, Mr. Potter,” she said, and—patting him on the shoulder in passing—left the store.

Resolving to examine the booklet later, Harry tucked the letter in his pocket and looked around for a shop assistant. He had no idea where to start with getting wizard’s robes.

***

Remembering his realization that he could do well in school without consequence, Harry tried to study all of his Hogwarts books during August. To his dismay, he found them confusing and hard to follow, with long chapters made up of dense paragraphs full of words he didn’t know. More than once, he wished for some kind of magical dictionary—the old, dust-covered one in Dudley’s room didn’t have entries for even a quarter of the words that stumped him.

So consumed was he with slogging his way through his textbooks, he didn’t remember the Starhaven booklet until halfway through August.

When he did remember it, he gratefully grabbed it as an excuse to set aside _Magical Drafts and Potions_. It took some digging, because the envelope had found its way to the very bottom, but eventually he retrieved it from his new school trunk.

Behind the acceptance letter was a folded square of parchment that, when pulled from the envelope, immediately expanded itself into something approximately the size of the ladies’ magazines Aunt Petunia received monthly in the post. It had a plain, light blue cover and no title…at first.

Once it finished expanding, however, the cover began to _move_. Two children—a boy and a girl—flew in on broomsticks from opposite sides of the cover, trailing smoke from the ends of their brooms. The girl, flying above and on the left, spelled out STARHAVEN INSTITUTE, while the boy, from below and on the right, spelled out MAGICAL STUDIES, beginning with the second ‘s’ and working his way back. They slapped hands when they passed one another in the middle of the page; as their palms met, sparks flew, forming the word OF between their two lines.

As Harry watched, mesmerized, the two finished up their lines, flew to the bottom of the page, and collapsed, looking exhausted but very pleased with themselves.

“Wicked,” he breathed.

As if they’d heard him, the two figures waved.

Encouraged by the exciting cover—which by itself was far more interesting than anything he’d found in his textbooks—he opened the booklet. The first page was a table of contents, and quite an extensive one for the size of the booklet. 

The first chapter was the one Professor Wixlit had told him to look for: FIRST GENERATION INFORMATION. Its subheadings were _Welcome to the Magical World, Basics of Magic,_ and _What You Need to Know_ , with the last subheading having further divisions of its own: _Transportation, Government, Entertainment,_ and _Manners_.

Other chapters followed, from WELCOME TO STARHAVEN to YOUR INTRODUCTORY TERM to FUTURE COURSES, for a total of twelve chapters, each with at least three subheadings.

It was an intimidating table of contents. Harry didn’t even know where to start—

—and then the girl from the cover flew in on her broom and landed on the top of the word FIRST in FIRST GENERATION INFORMATION. He waited a moment to see what she would do, but all she did was stare up at him expectantly.

“What?” he asked her.

She stomped her foot and pointed…at the word below her.

“Oh,” he said. “Right. Good idea.”

He tried to turn the page to the first chapter…but the next page was blank, as were the other ten pages in the booklet. Confused, he flipped back to the table of contents, where the girl from the cover shook her head at him and pointed above upwards.

The boy from the cover was just landing on something he hadn’t noticed: below the words _Table of Contents_ , it said _Tap each chapter name with your wand to read!_

“Oh,” Harry said again, and then, feeling a little foolish, “Thanks.”

The girl nodded imperiously. The boy—apparently stretching himself out on the word ‘chapter’ for a nap—just gave him a thumbs up. Harry was smiling to himself as he got up to fetch his wand.

***

For the rest of August, Harry alternated between the Starhaven booklet and his Hogwarts textbooks. In the Starhaven booklet, he learned about things like the International Confederation of Wizards, Floo powder, and Quidditch, while his textbooks offered confusing jumbles of information about magical theory, swishes and flicks, and the importance of only picking dittany during a waxing moon.

Guiltily, he spent far more time on the booklet than his textbooks. He often reminded himself that the booklet was just that, obviously designed to fascinate and intrigue, while textbooks would of course be less interesting by nature…but he still had to fight the creeping feeling that he’d made a terrible mistake.

Still, his parents had gone to Hogwarts, and he had a friend there in Hagrid. It was too late to change his mind now.

It was a bit disheartening, though, how uninformative his textbooks were. The Starhaven booklet, in the WELCOME TO STARHAVEN- _History of the School_ section, mentioned that the school’s current location was a secret. Apparently, Starhaven was on its second location; the original school had been in the Indus River Valley, but was destroyed—along with its world famous library—during the Third Sorceress War. As an aside, it gave the dates for the First, Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Sorceress Wars, and explained that there were no records left of the Second Sorceress War, which was one of the great mysteries of magical history.

Intrigued, Harry had gone looking in _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot, but he hadn’t found any mention of a single Sorceress War at all. Maybe Hogwarts didn’t cover it in first year.

That was an interesting difference: Harry also learned from the booklet that Starhaven’s school year actually ran from January to December, with a two week term break every three months. If he’d chosen Starhaven, he wouldn’t be starting his first year, but his introductory term, which was used to ground students in the basics of magical theory and make sure everyone was on the same level when they started the first year.

Still fearing he’d be the worst in his class (although his intense study of the booklet’s FIRST GENERATION section had given him a bit of confidence), he thought that was an excellent idea, and wished Hogwarts did the same. Even more, he wished Hogwarts ran January to December—that way, he’d never have to return to Privet Drive ever again.

“What do you think, Hedwig?” Harry asked his owl, who had been a birthday gift—his very first—from Hagrid. “Did I make a mistake, choosing Hogwarts?”

Hedwig made her little _prek!_ sound and settled on his shoulder to pull at his hair. Harry decided that meant _wait and see_. After all, Hogwarts started on 1 September, and he had until 15 September to decide.

“Good point,” he agreed. “I’ll see what classes at Hogwarts are like.”

***

Classes at Hogwarts, it turned out, were disappointing.

Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology were all right, but History of Magic—which Harry had been excited for after his study of the Starhaven booklet—was absurd. It was taught by a _ghost_ , which might have been exciting if the ghost didn’t constantly drone on about goblin rebellions without ever paying any attention to his class. And Harry heard from the older students that it was _all he ever taught_! None of them had ever studied the Sorceress Wars; only the ones from magical families had even heard of the mystery of the lost second war.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was even worse. It was the Hogwarts equivalent of the course Professor Wixlit taught, Defensive Magic, and he’d looked forward to it, having embarrassing thoughts of making her proud in her subject, even if he didn’t attend her school. But the teacher, Professor Quirrell, had a horrible stammer. That wasn’t the man’s fault, of course, and Harry felt very bad for how visibly nervous he was all the time, but it made it _impossible_ to learn from him.

Even worse, Hogwarts didn’t offer Ancient Runes or Arithmancy (two of the more exciting offerings in the Starhaven course listings) until third year, and didn’t offer Languages, Alchemy, Technomancy, or Enchantment _at all_.

Then there were the other students. Everywhere Harry went in Hogwarts, people stared and whispered. People doubled back to get looks at him in the corridor and cornered him in the library to ask intrusive questions about whether he remembered his parents’ deaths and to demand to see his scar.

Every time it happened, Harry remembered Professor Wixlit, and the words _At Starhaven, you’ll be just another student_ echoed in his head. Transferring became more tempting by the day, even though he’d made a real friend in Ron.

Another concern was the Welcoming Feast, at which Headmaster Dumbledore had warned that an area of the castle was out of bounds to anyone who didn’t want to _die a very painful death_. To Harry, who had just spent a few weeks reading the reassuring Starhaven booklet, which was full of information about emergency evacuation drills and safety procedures, this was alarming.

Then he almost forced his way into the forbidden area entirely by accident, as they _didn’t even have a sign up_ , and it became downright terrifying.

The final straw was Potions.

Potions had seemed such an interesting subject when presented in the Starhaven booklet, which held fascinating charts about ingredient properties, safety procedures, and different stirring methods. And maybe it would have been equally interesting at Hogwarts, if the teacher weren’t a _total berk_.

From the very first moment, when Professor Snape made a snide comment about Harry’s celebrity during roll, Harry was on edge. By the time he was unfairly blamed and derided for Neville Longbottom’s cauldron melting, he’d had quite enough.

He’d spent his entire childhood being berated and blamed for things he hadn’t done. Here in the magical world, where he had the opportunity to succeed—to make people proud—without being punished for it, he wasn’t willing to tolerate it at all.

Starhaven, it was clear, really was the better choice. Ron and the specter of his parents just weren’t enough to outweigh the horrible classes, unsafe conditions, and berkish professors.

So that afternoon, he wrote an apologetic, pleading letter to Professor Wixlit.

By Sunday breakfast, he had a response.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_For your sake, I’m so sorry to hear you’ve found Hogwarts disappointing—but on my own selfish behalf, I’m very pleased to assure you that there is still a place waiting for you at Starhaven._

Here, Harry breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

 _As you know_ , the letter continued, _term at Starhaven begins on 15 September. However, in light of your special circumstances—and the apparent danger at Hogwarts, which I assure you I shall bring to the attention of the ICW at once—we’ll be pleased to welcome you tonight. This will give us time to straighten out your paperwork, collect any supplies that Hogwarts may not require, and see to your translation enchantment_.

Harry had read in the Starhaven booklet about the translation enchantment, which was a necessary element for a school that accepted students from all over the world. The booklet explained that there were any number of inferior translation charms, which would work fine for the students in taking classes, but would limit them in making friends, as they could only translate one language at a time.

In contrast, a translation enchantment—though far more difficult and involved to place than a translation charm—would make it so the subject of the enchantment heard every language as if it was their own. As a bonus, over time, exposure to the same languages would wear a path in the subject’s mind, creating a base that would make actually learning those languages far easier.

Harry—who had never been exposed to any language beyond English—couldn’t wait to get started.

 _I will warn you, however,_ the letter said, _that Hogwarts will be very sad to lose you. I would advise you to tell as few classmates as possible before you depart—if word reaches the papers, you may well be faced with a mob._

Remembering the crowd at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry shuddered.

 _In aid of discretion, I’m including a shrinking circle. You may have read about these in your Starhaven booklet_ —he had— _If not, know that all you have to do is place the circle on your school trunk and say_ shrink _, and it will become pocket-sized. Resizing is a bit trickier, but luckily I’ll be on hand to take care of that. You can send your lovely owl on ahead; no need to subject her to the Portkey._

 _The Portkey is, of course, the included sock. Once you’re outside of Hogwarts’ wards (they’re quite extensive, I understand, but Headmaster Dumbledore should be able to tell you where they stop), hold the Portkey, make sure you’ve a tight grip on your belongings, and say_ Starhaven. _We will await you between the hours of five and eight pm, British time, tonight. If for any reason these hours won’t work, send me an owl and we’ll figure something else out._

_Looking forward to seeing you,_

_Professor A. Wixlit_

Hidden behind the curtains on his four-poster bed, Harry chewed his lip as he considered the letter. Obviously, Professor Wixlit was expecting him to tell Professor Dumbledore that he was leaving. But his eyes kept being drawn back to the mention of a mob, and he remembered Professor Wixlit admitting that the school who got him as a student would brag about it.

Had Harry’s professors here been bragging that he was their student? (Snape hadn’t, he was sure.) How badly would it hurt Hogwarts’ international reputation if Harry left after a week?

It would probably be bad—and Professor Dumbledore, as the Headmaster, would probably want to stop him. And since he was also, according to the Starhaven booklet, the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, he definitely might have the power to do that.

No, Harry determined, he wouldn’t tell Professor Dumbledore. He wouldn’t tell _anyone_ , not even Ron. He’d find out from the older students where the wards ended, leave a goodbye letter and a promise to write on Ron’s bed, and send Professor Dumbledore a letter withdrawing from Hogwarts only when he was settled in at Starhaven.

And that’s exactly what he did.

That night, standing just outside the Hogwarts gates with his trunk in his pocket and Hedwig well on her way, Harry gripped the Portkey tight and said, “Starhaven.”

He wasn’t at all sad to be leaving.


End file.
